Title: Transhuman
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Characters/Pairing: Garcia-centric, team - gen
Genre: Science-fiction/Drama
Summary: In a dystopian future, hacker Penelope Garcia finds herself being hunted by a corrupt organization. Fearing for her life, she must search for help in the strangest of places.

Chapter Eighteen

Emily Prentiss woke up to a headache, and an intense feeling of fuzziness. It wasn't exactly the most common occurrence – she'd had her fair share of concussions and hangovers (and on one memorable occasion, a concussion and a hangover) but this one felt so much worse. Maybe because it was accompanied by the bitter sting of failure.

But wait.

She'd been ambushed in the tunnel, a labyrinth of darkness. There shouldn't have been any light. Had she been unconscious longer than she'd thought? Had they taken her away to some secret facility and locked her in an interrogation room, the harsh fluorescents flickering.

No.

Not that, either.

It was sunlight.

She opened her eyes experimentally, letting the light in bit by bit. Definitely sunlight. Sunlight in the slums, too, judging by the height of the buildings. Why would they want her on this side of the river, of all places?

'…hit you pretty hard,' a voice seemed to be saying. 'I wasn't sure you were going to wake up.'

Though she'd never strictly been on the wrong side of a Corp interrogation, this definitely didn't seem like one. The voice sounded almost concerned, for one thing. She tried to sit up, which, apparently, wasn't the best of ideas – her ribs hurt as much as her head did.

She groaned.

'What happened?' she asked with a groan, not entirely sure that the words had actually come out the way she'd intended them to.

'They won't be out for long,' is the answer she got, even if it only really answered part of what she really wanted to know. 'You need to hurry.'

'What?' She attempted to sit up again, grimacing through the rib pain. Her vision was clearing, and she took in the appearance of her mysterious savior. Female, early thirties, brown hair. There was a brief flash of recognition – the female Corp agent from the ambush. Why the hell was she helping, then?

'You're Corp?'

'Not by choice,' the woman said, in a voice that suggested there was much more to the story. 'They took your phone to set up a fake meet. I couldn't stop them.'

A fake meet?

Pilgrim.

'Oh, shit,' she muttered. This was definitely not good. Pilgrim and the hackers would be playing right into the Corp's hand. Everything they'd worked for would be lost, all because she'd been too fucking trusting. Talk about a fuck-up. Even as they tortured her, the Corp would be laughing at her failure.

She scrambled to her feet, against every single screaming message that her body was trying to send. 'I have to stop it.'

There was no argument from the other Corp agent – if anything, she looked almost encouraging of Emily's plan, however unformed. 'I can't go with you.'

Emily stared – this time, the voice was almost regretful, even though Emily had made no inquiry as to her intentions. Definitely something going on there, even if it wasn't malicious.

'Tell Derek I'm sorry,' she said, handing Emily a slip of paper, and a weapon in quick succession.

Emily blinked.

Who the hell was Derek?

* * *

Morgan kept his eyes moving, not quite trusting the weapons experience of his two companions. Of course, it wasn't just that – he was used to relying on his own judgment, rather than anyone else's.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man – tallish, dark hair, dark eyes. His clothes were disheveled, and he looked as though he hadn't had a shower in days, but there was something about him that just screamed "civilized" – in a manner of speaking. He was most definitely from the other side of the river. Corp, probably. Montana.

Still, it wasn't what Morgan had been expecting.

'Pilgrim?' the man asked, and Morgan raised an eyebrow. Definitely a little suspicious.

He nodded, though; the best way to get through this was to play along. 'Montana?' The question was answered in the affirmative, and Morgan gave a slight laugh. 'I thought you were a chick.'

'All part of the cover,' was the smooth reply. A little too smooth. 'We need to get out of here. If the Corp finds us, we're dead. Do you have the chip?'

'Things die,' Morgan shrugged, eyes not leaving the Corp agent. 'All things die.'

'I didn't realize freedom fighters were so philosophical.'

'Yeah, well…So it goes,' Morgan said. No reaction. Whoever this was, it wasn't Montana. It was a Corp imposter, which meant that Montana had been compromised – if she had ever really existed at all. She could have been nothing more than a ruse designed to take down the resistance from the inside. But then, she could have done so a lot earlier if that were the case.

There was a moment of pained silence; Morgan knew that this man was a fake, and he was fairly sure that the man knew that he knew. They both drew their gun in the same split second. Garcia and Spencer both looked shocked, as if they hadn't quite realized what had transpired.

'It's over, Morgan,' the fake Montana said, his voice dropping any façade of familiarity. 'Give us the files, and we'll make sure you only get a few years of torture. You'll come out a better man.'

A Corp man, were the unspoken words. Brainwashing. He'd rather die than subject himself to that.

'We don't have the files,' he said evenly, not letting his eyes turn back towards Garcia. 'We passed them on to a hacker. He'll have them broken within a day, and every single bit of data that's in those files will become public knowledge.'

'You're lying,' the fake smirked. 'You wouldn't need Montana if you'd found someone to crack the files.' He looked contemplatively towards Spencer. 'You know, I think you might be a little more forthcoming if we capped the kid in the knees.'

Morgan heard the crack of a gunshot, and his heart almost stopped, before he realized that the fake hadn't even made a move yet. It was another half second before he noticed the pool of red spreading across the man's chest. He collapsed to the ground with a dramatic thump.

The shot had come from behind them. Weapon still grasped tightly in his hand, he swiveled to face the shooter, unsure if it was a friend or foe. Sometimes, it was still hard to tell.

One thing was for sure – she looked like crap. Clothes stained with what looked like sewerage, one hand was held against her stomach, as the other clutched the gun, which was shaking slightly. Blood dripped from a wound under the hairline.

'Pilgrim?' she asked, and it was almost a wheeze. He didn't say anything, still unsure. This could have been the Corp's back-up plan. Have someone come in and save them in order to further cement any trust. The next words she spoke, though, changed the situation entirely.

'Hi ho.'

And with that, she fell to her knees and passed out entirely.

A/N: I figure I should probably explain, so as not to confuse people, but Morgan was using Vonnegut quotes to draw out the fake. The names Montana and Pilgrim are also Vonnegut references.